I woke up to another perfect day – and all I wanted to do was pull the covers over my head.

Since we returned from vacation; everything at home has hummed along happily – groceries in supply; meals made without rushing; cat’s behaving and even telephone conversations with my own mother have been calm and tranquil. In short – I’ve had nothing to blog about.

“Even the cat hasn’t yacked,” I whimper, blowing my nose into an Aloe coated tissue. Crap; we even have the perfect tissues lately. When did I go Stepford shopping? “I have no conflicts or complications whatsoever. I feel like I’m being jinxed.”“It’s not so bad. Something will come up,” husband assures me, continuing to wash the dishes. Wash the dishes? WTH did this start?“You’re not even making a mess in the kitchen anymore.”“Sorry.”“And you even made the bed.”“Well, it is our second anniversary and I wanted to make you happy.”“Thanks a lot. At this rate, I'll be editing dictionaries.” (Insert more blowing of nose into horrifyingly clean/soft tissue here.)“Look, if it’s any consolation – we could move, right? Haven’t we been going to all those open houses?”I dabbed my eyes. “That’s true.”

“And I’m a terrible packer. I’ll probably shove our tax papers in with your bras and the ketchup, right?”“Oh yes!” I brightened a bit.“And the movers could break things – or even take our stuff to the completely wrong house! Or – not even show!”

“You’re not doing any laundry, are you?” I call after him, dreading more good things flung my way.“Only my chef clothes. But if you want, I’ll make sure to pour bleach on something of yours and ruin it.” I sigh with relief, and finally enjoy a sip of - albeit perfect - Pacific Blend. But what the heck.“Hey, honey!” he calls up from the basement.“Yeah?” I shriek back down; wondering how much more of our laundry has aired through the neighbor’s walls.“You’re in luck – the washer’s broken!” “Really?”"Yep. Looks like we'll have to buy a new one. It could take days to deliver, too."